People Like Me and You
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: Inspired by the line from Hell Bent, "People like me and you, we should say things to one another. And I'm going to say them now."


She wasn't supposed to feel this way about him.

Him, standing against the console, one finger curled up away from a loose fist at a screen, mouth spreading into a crooked smile as he details the planet below. His words aren't lyrical or kind, flowing from his lips like his predecessor's – they're sharp, lashing at her ears, assaulting her mind with only the pertinent details; a list of facts and warnings that end with a softening of his eyes as he turns to her.

That's always when his body stills. When it freezes and waits while he processes her reaction as though it meant more than the words he'd just unleashed. _What_ , she imagined him thinking, _did Clara feel about everything I've just said_? _What_ , she understood he studied, _did Clara feel about exploring this strange place_? It's that moment that her heart always jumps twice for him. For knowing that beyond the cold facade he carried for others, there sat – nestled somewhere in that ridiculous head of his – a warm spot especially for her.

It reaches out to tickle at her senses, to tug at the corners of her lips, to jumble any rational thought out of her head so she giggles like a little girl to nod back at him. To rush towards the doors with a skip in her step and laugh back at him before beckoning him over, asking if he planned to join her. Pleased, in some odd way, that it felt as though he needed her permission to look beyond those doors, as though what stood behind them were meant for her and he was merely privy to her journey if she allowed.

She wasn't supposed to feel that way about him, and yet there she stood, chest thumping with excitement as she watched that stiffened body melt at his inclusion, not for the planet, but for the man who approached. There she stood, hand itching to take his as he reached for her just as she opened those doors and moved beyond them into the heat of an unforgiving sun. There she stood, wanting little more than to be in his company, no matter the destination, for the rest of her days, and it always stunned her to acknowledge it.

That way she imagined she only existed with him at her side. Because when he dropped her off and turned back into his ship, some part of her went with him, leaving her broken, incomplete in a way that ached for his return. It was an ache not soothed by a tea or a bath or an indulgence in wine or food, but one that only withered away with the sound of him arriving. The sound of him clearing his throat to gain her attention, quietly watching with expectant eyes for her to turn, or rasping some mundane comment she knew masked his impatience on the dull humanity he wished to take her from, thinking her above it.

Or when he offered a genuine laugh. It was rare, usually alone aboard his ship, when he stilled after a day of complexities and insanities they'd barely escaped. When the adrenaline was wearing thin and the exhaustion was creeping into their bones as they stood side by side on the console. When his fingers lingered over hers for just a moment too long as he laughed at her jokes and her retelling of their tales. When he looked down at her as that laughter tapered off, just before he turned away to guide his ship elsewhere, fingers reluctantly slipping away. As though they both knew it were inevitable, the parting of ways. The cold of that distance.

He wasn't supposed to feel this way about her.

Her, leaned into the console at his side, smile still radiating her soft round face, throat still shaking with the remnants of a laugh at something he'd said he couldn't even remember. She speaks like a song that settles in his hearts and calms its beats, and he feels as though possibly they might stop their flow if she goes silent, so much so that sometimes in her absence he thinks his chest has stilled and he fears the death to follow. It unsettles him, how she's wormed her way into his thoughts in such stark ways; how she's embedded herself in his flesh so deeply, he goes cold when she's gone, as though her touch imbues him with the warmth of life.

Inching into her, he waits to feel that tiny spark of something electric when she nudges him and then moves closer again, settling herself against him, head tapping into his shoulder before moving away, as though afraid of that very contact. Afraid of letting it linger too long and knowing what it means and he bows his head, trying not to let the thought burden him because he knows they both know. Because he's taken on many companions before her, and he's held enough in his hearts too strongly to understand Clara was something different.

With one look she was a soothing breath of pure oxygen in his tired respiratory system after the hardest of runs on the harshest of planets. With one word she was the cooling relief of aloe on all of the burns along his long life he'd been scorched with. With one touch she was a promise of something bigger and better, something he didn't want to name for fear of losing it and he knew, glancing sideways at her as she hung her head bashfully to slip a finger underneath her nose to hide her smile, he knew how easily he could lose her.

He wasn't supposed to feel this way about her and yet there it drummed against the inside of his chest, a fear unlike anything he'd ever felt at the mere thought of her not there. His mind could easily wipe her presence off his console, leaving it cold and quiet and empty, and he feels his grip on the edging in front of him tighten just as her fingers come around his arm, the question in her very existence before it escaped her lips – _Doctor, what's wrong_?

The answer is simple and yet so utterly complicated, he merely chuckles and pushes passed her, ignoring it entirely because he knows she won't push any further. Because she knows it was a conversation to be avoided between them because it comes with a finality neither wants to accept and he chooses to turn the screen to face him, typing and then tapping at it before beginning another notch on their belts. Another destination where he would drink in her enjoyment of their time together as though his life depended on it, understanding that one day her cup would empty itself and he'd be starved.

She hugs him unexpectedly and his words come to a halt, air escaping him alongside all his thoughts, save one: _she's with me now_. Looking down into those eyes, inflated and reddened with sadness, he rounds an arm over her shoulders, giving her a gentle pat before turning into her to hold her tightly. The console is silent with solemn understanding and yet screaming with tense yearning for words neither will admit and they stand there a while, knowing how short that while will be in the long run, and knowing the unspoken words exchanged in their embrace were worth a moment or two of that precious time.

Because they weren't supposed to love this way, but they did.


End file.
